CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935743
Carla Du Pree
{"title":"Home Going","authors":"Carla Du Pree","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935743","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935743","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> Home Going <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Carla Du Pree (bio) </li> </ul> <p>We spoke of the many ways M'dear came to us that night, her hair wrapped in a towel piled high on her head, fresh from her bath. She came quietly, stealing the night from us the way a cat slipped into a room to take a child's breath. She lit the way with her footfalls, turning on lights as she headed our way. I awakened—not by the light but by the rustling of her nightgown near my face, the soft scent of musk surrounding her. Eugenia said it was M'dear peering into her dream, her face tight with worry that pulled her voice through like a thread.</p> <p>M'dear didn't wish to startle us from sleep so she said softly, \"Wake up, Eudora, Eugenia, Pint. Wake up. Pack what you can, a week's worth of clothes. My sister's sick, and I need to see about her.\"</p> <p>It meant a journey home for M'dear, one rife with a dangling Southern past she rarely embraced but nudged away each time it came too close to touching down on her present life. A dirt floor and a desire never to return to it. A notion to say \"down south\" rather than Alabama, admitting it meant giving way to hardship and pain.</p> <p>M'dear came to us with heartbreak in her throat, her words heavy and thick, falling off her tongue—trying without success to ease the urgency that held her knotted hands in place. Sorrow roped around each word she offered. \"Place them here,\" she pointed as we gathered underwear and placed them in the open suitcase. \"Don't forget your socks.\"</p> <p>She came resigned.</p> <p>The first hint Aunt Myrna turned ill M'dear denied, brushed it off like lint from someone's shoulder. \"She's not feeling herself,\" she said out loud after one disturbing phone call from home. \"But Mama says she'll pull through just fine.\"</p> <p>The second time Aunt Myrna wouldn't speak on the phone. The only way to know she was on the other end was the rustling of sheets and the muffled moans that pricked the silence between M'dear asking, \"You there, Myrna? Hello, are you there?\"</p> <p>M'dear often said when people stare at death's door, they choose their own time to say goodbye to loved ones. One by one they give up speaking to them, purposely shutting that fateful door for good. I imagined my auntie's door closing on M'dear's face, and my mother's palm upright, braced to refuse it.</p> <p>On that last call she placed the telephone on the table, unable to usher the strength to lift it to its hook. She set it down, and a bit of craziness came to be a part of her day. I listened to the fraying ends of her sentences as she couldn't string two together. Dinner was a mess of rudely boiled rice and chicken too tough to eat.</p> <p>At the very sight of Daddy arriving home from work, M'dear appeared in the doorway, and collapsed in his arms, her face drawn and stricken. She couldn't pretend anymore. When ","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"22 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142182636","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935744
L. Renée
{"title":"Where Marva Went, and: Lineage, and: Girl, and: Love Story #1: Notes from the Archivist's Logbook","authors":"L. Renée","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935744","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935744","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> Where Marva Went, and: Lineage, and: Girl, and: Love Story #1: Notes from the Archivist's Logbook <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> L. Renée (bio) </li> </ul> <h2>WHERE MARVA WENT</h2> <p><em>Bluefield, Virginia, 1957</em></p> <blockquote> <p><span><em>\"If you lie, you'll steal; if you steal, you'll kill.\"</em></span></p> –<em>Black Appalachian Proverb</em> </blockquote> <p><span>Last seen: Coke bottle gal gettin in bruise blue DeVille</span><span> Last seen: Devil blue suit gettin in too</span></p> <p><span>Last seen: Grown-look-a-like molasses legs</span><span> Last seen: Legs wearin chilren-frilly-cuff socks</span></p> <p><span>Last seen: Ol' man's wide brown hand</span><span> Last seen: Hand wearin gold-plated weddin band</span></p> <p><span>Last heard: Metal porch door wailin fa sure</span><span> Last heard: \"I'll be right back\" flung through screen</span></p> <p><span>Last heard: \"Where Marva goin?\" Half-Pint sis say</span><span> Last heard: \"Where fast gals get mo miles.\" Full-Quart sis say</span></p> <p><span>Last heard: Engine sputterin haint blue growl</span><span> Last heard: Tires crushin rocks to dirt <strong>[End Page 138]</strong></span></p> <h2>LINEAGE</h2> <p><span>Given that our beginnings cannot be traced</span><span>by autosomal DNA alone—</span></p> <p><span>the double helix script terminating</span><span>1,000 years ago, while ancient hieroglyphs writ</span><span>large on my waning eyes moonlight as seers—</span></p> <p><span>I won't wear all of my unknowing</span><span>like a sad sack of potatoes, weeping</span><span>into rootless dirt—</span></p> <p><span>but, still, again, I am always naked,</span><span>in the garden, rooting around for someone's God-</span><span>hand to attach to my searching, hand-me</span></p> <p><span>-downs that they are, knowledge</span><span>of, at least, the green shadow thumb</span><span>that may have spun us from jute once—</span></p> <p><span>and now, me, descendant</span><span>of the dissidents, marked as I am,</span><span>my own spoiled body, spilled</span><span>and slipping out my gunny dress—</span></p> <p><span>my mummy breast beating, breathing</span><span>through innumerable mouths,</span><span>famished as we are for relations</span><span>relative to more than just survival—</span></p> <p><span>we who fashion for ourselves</span><span>something still elusive</span><span>to science and religion, something</span><span>that refuses quantification— <strong>[End Page 139]</strong></span></p> <p><strong>[End Page 140]</strong></p> <h2>GIRL</h2> <p><span>holder of secrets</span><span> a thing that can be kept</span><span> keeps this body shuddering.</span><span>silence still vibrates</span><span> inside of movement.</span><span> where do i return inside my-</span><span> self left entangled,</span><span> mangled by the many</span></p> <p><span> wasted hours</span><span> with ot","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"1 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142182656","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935740
Aneesah Nu'Man
{"title":"You Are My Sunshine, Helen Juanita","authors":"Aneesah Nu'Man","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935740","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935740","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> You Are My Sunshine, Helen Juanita <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Aneesah Nu'Man (bio) </li> </ul> <p>Once there was a thriving village named Woodburn. It was nestled in the Pennyroyal region of Kentucky. As time passed, Woodburn faded and became crinkled and desiccated as old things do. But about one hundred years ago, Woodburn had many loving families and bountiful farms that yielded delicious nutrition. It was there that the Donoho and Thurman families relocated and united in holy matrimony.</p> <p>This is where our story begins. William Howard Donoho (1862-1928) and James Elizabeth \"Lizzie\" Thurman (1876-1966), affectionately known as \"Mama Lizzie,\" married in Hartsville, Tennessee but created a family and a legacy that began in Warren County, Kentucky. William was the color of switchgrass in the fall and had a thick mustache like Bass Reeves. He worked as an engineer and fireman at the local flour mill. Mama Lizzie had skin the color of mitochondrial Eve's bones, hair like broomcorn in color, texture, and smell, and eyes like the cool, clear water that ran from the creeks in nearby Rich Pond, Kentucky.</p> <p>William's parents were quiet stoics named Dave Donoho (1832-1890's), a farmer and laborer, and Rilla Clardy (1844-1914), a homemaker. They were both residents of Hartsville, Tennessee (formerly called Donoho's Mill) in the county of Trousdale, near the big city of Nashville.</p> <p>Mama Lizzie's father was named Dan Thurman (1847-1905), a reading and writing Civil War hero and a first sergeant in the very prestigious 14<sup>th</sup> Regiment, United States Colored Infantry, Company F. Mama Lizzie's mother was named Charlotte Tinsley (1854-1934), an herbalist, midwife, and town sage. When the state came around to inoculate its citizens against smallpox, Charlotte declared to the official that he wasn't \"man enough\" to inoculate her. Thank you very much, Mr. Government Man, but no thank you.</p> <p>Woodburn wasn't known for a lot, but it certainly wasn't known for its airs. Woodburn was rich with love, but nobody had any money. No one cared if you were called someone's girl or someone's boy, fifty years before. Therefore, everyone shopped at the local A&P, egalitarily. One day at the people's A&P, Helen—Mama Lizzie and William's precious grandbaby—got to singing the number one song of the year \"You Are My Sunshine\" at the top of her lungs. Strangers exclaimed \"How cute!\" and \"What a beautiful baby!\" and \"Awwww!\" Helen's mother, Dorothy, was not amused, as she took after the stoic Donoho side and promptly dragged little Helen right out of the store.</p> <p>Helen was really a daddy's girl, but she adored her Mama Lizzie. Mama Lizzie was a typical grandmother who spoiled her grandchildren with love, affection, and privileges that bemused her own children when they witnessed it.</p> <p>Mama Lizzie's bungalow style","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"27 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142223930","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935729
Asha L. French
{"title":"The Writer Is Asked Why She Calls Herself Affrilachian","authors":"Asha L. French","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935729","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935729","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> The Writer Is Asked Why She Calls Herself Affrilachian <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Asha L. French (bio) </li> </ul> <h2>The Writer Is Asked Why She Calls Herself Affrilachian</h2> <p>A young woman is trying to get an elder poet to say she is Affrilachian but the elder has already said she is Appalachian and not Affrilachian because she is from Appalachian people who do not play the separatist racial politics of the rest of the country. The young woman is hoping to write something scholarly about Affrilachians and is trying to commission the curmudgeonly poet to that end.</p> <p>\"I'm an Affrilachian Poet,\" I say, not to brag but to help, \"and I can put you in touch with some Affrilachian Poets from the region.\"</p> <p>\"Some\" is my word for two. I know two Affrilachian Poets from the region. The two Crystals: Crystal Wilkinson and Crystal Goode. The others of us have been riding under the moniker to put some color into the place because the books say it was never there, but our family pictures tell us otherwise. In so doing, we have done two wrong things that some Real Scholar of Appalachian history will continue to point out for years: 1) We have projected the identity of a multi-state region onto one whole state; and 2) we have bastardized the name of said region, kidnapping the rhythm of an Indigenous word, Appalachia, to use it toward some Black Arts Movement-inspired, separatist end.</p> <p>The young woman must have read this Real Scholar. She sneers. Looks away from the esteemed poet. Says to me, \"Why do you call yourself that?\"</p> <h2>The Writer is Asked Why She Calls Herself a Womanist</h2> <p>Another time I was asked why I called myself something was during a job interview for a Black feminist professorship. I was calling myself a womanist at the time. bell hooks had not yet passed away, and feminist was something I wasn't comfortable being as long as I knew that she and her followers talked bad about the ways of my dead brother under that moniker. I had been one of those followers saying slick things about him and his fraternity brothers<sup>1</sup> because they had some funny ways. <strong>[End Page 87]</strong></p> <p>Just hours before the interview, I'd been crying over the gone men in my family. I was a postdoctoral fellow at an Ivy League school, and I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere in that cold city. Not the campus with its plantation houses still intact. Not the apartment I was renting from a family that did not speak my language. Not the public school my daughter attended. Not even in my skin. I wanted to be with my father and my brother. I wasn't allowed to feel that way because I was a mother, after all, and a scholar who had managed to complete a doctoral degree. I wasn't supposed to pack my bags and go to heaven at the peak of this academic success but that's just what I wanted to do unless I was","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"389 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142182619","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935749
{"title":"Contributors","authors":"","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935749","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935749","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> Contributors <!-- /html_title --></li> </ul> <p><strong>TONYA ABARI</strong> is a multigenre storyteller, independent journalist, author, and book reviewer. Her words can be found in <em>Essence, Publishers Weekly</em>, Parents, <em>SWING Magazine, Raising Mothers, AARP, USA Today, Good Housekeeping, ZORA</em>, and other places. She has published and forthcoming children's books with The Innovation Press, Mudpuppy, HarperCollins, Penguin, and Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. Abari is also a teaching artist with PorchTN and is the Books on Books on Books column editor for the literary magazine <em>Raising Mothers</em>. As a Hurston-Wright Writers Week and Carnegie Hall/Roots. Words.Wounds. creative nonfiction alum, her writing often centers on her multifaceted life as a Black woman and mother in the United States.</p> <p><strong>AMY M. ALVAREZ</strong> is an Affrilachian Poet, the author of the poetry collection <em>Makeshift Altar</em>, and a co-editor of <em>Essential Voices: A COVID-19 Anthology</em>. Selected as one of 2022's Best New Poets, her work has appeared in several literary journals, including <em>Ploughshares, The Missouri Review, Rattle, Colorado Review</em>, and <em>The Cincinnati Review</em>. She is also a recipient of fellowships from CantoMundo, VONA, Macondo, the Virginia Center of the Creative Arts, and the Furious Flower Poetry Center.</p> <p><strong>ARIANA BENSON</strong> is a Southern Black ecopoet. Their debut collection, <em>Black Pastoral</em> (University of Georgia Press, 2023) won the Cave Canem Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the National Books Critics Circle Leonard Prize. A Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Fellow, Benson has also received the Furious Flower Poetry Prize and the Graybeal Gowen Prize for Virginia Poets. Her poems and essays appear or are forthcoming in <em>Poetry Magazine, Ploughshares, Poem-a-Day, The Yale Review, The Kenyon Review</em>, and elsewhere. Through her writing, she strives to fashion vignettes of Blackness that speak to its infinite depth and richness.</p> <p><strong>TORLI BUSH</strong> is a poet from Webster Springs, West Virginia. They are currently a poetry editor for <em>Heartwood</em> and their first collection, <em>Requiem for a Redbird</em>, is forthcoming in fall 2024 from Pulley Press.</p> <p><strong>JAMES E CHERRY</strong> is a poet, fiction writer, professor, literary activist, and impresario. He is the author of four books of poetry, two novels, and a collection of short fiction. His latest novel, <em>Edge of the Wind</em>, was re-issued in 2022 from Stephen F. Austin University Press. His latest collection of poetry, <em>Between Chance and Mercy</em>, is forthcoming from Willow Books. He has been nominated for an NAACP Image Award, a Lillian Smith Book Award, and a Next Generation Indie Book Award. His writing has been published in journ","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"95 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142182642","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
CallalooPub Date : 2024-08-29DOI: 10.1353/cal.2024.a935710
Marie T. Cochran
{"title":"I Pledge Allegiance to Affrilachia","authors":"Marie T. Cochran","doi":"10.1353/cal.2024.a935710","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/cal.2024.a935710","url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\u0000<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> I Pledge Allegiance to Affrilachia <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Marie T. Cochran (bio) </li> </ul> <p>Being a Black person from Appalachia can be summed up in that old Facebook relationship status: It's complicated.</p> <p>During my childhood, I enjoyed <em>The Waltons</em>, a popular 1970s TV show about a hardscrabble white family in the Virginia mountains, as much as I enjoyed <em>Good Times</em>, the story of an irrepressible Black family in Chicago's Cabrini-Green public housing community.</p> <p>My Black friends from Atlanta and other cities look askance when I mention I had simultaneous crushes on the sensitive aspiring writer John-Boy (the eldest Walton son) and Michael Evans, the smart, politically conscious youngest child on <em>Good Times</em>.</p> <p>I'm used to this reaction. I've always been teased because I was born and raised in the foothills of Georgia's Appalachian Mountains—a place not known for having Black communities or Deep South \"chocolate cities.\"</p> <p>But Appalachia is a crossroads—where African, European, and Indigenous people collided and co-existed. As a friend recently remarked, \"We were 'intersectional' before the word existed.\" In the best of times, the regional camaraderie flows in an easy familiar manner 'cause everybody knows 'your momma and them. In the worst of times, I've despaired of finding better ways to co-exist on this land. As I'm crafting these emotions into sentences—and this native daughter returned to Georgia after many years away—I am still sorting out how I feel about this place called home.</p> <p>I was born in Toccoa, in Stephens County, Georgia. Even these place names express the dissonance I feel about my geographic roots.</p> <p>\"Toccoa\" is a word of Cherokee origin; almost every local Chamber of Commerce brochure claims that translated into English it means \"the beautiful,\" though it was probably derived from \"tagwahi,\" meaning \"Catawba place.\" My high school mascot is still the Indians, boldly and inaccurately adorned in Plains Indian headgear. There was hardly any mention in our history classes of the \"Trail of Tears\" that removed Indigenous people from this area of northeast Georgia, nothing about the reasons why, and no thoughtful contemporary attempt to connect with the culture we claim to honor on the athletic field.</p> <p>The county is named after Alexander H. Stephens, vice president of the Confederacy during the Civil War. He is commemorated with a bronze plaque on the grounds of the county courthouse. This official marker does not refer to his infamous \"Cornerstone Address,\" delivered in Savannah in March 1861. There, he stated the logic behind the Confederacy's creation: \"Its foundations are laid, its cornerstone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery, subordination to the superior race, is his natural and no","PeriodicalId":501435,"journal":{"name":"Callaloo","volume":"27 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-08-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142182559","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}